caught inside agenda and pressured by hysteria
terror catches at throat,
mimicked by an echoed note.

smoked-out-in-columns-of-purgatory,
why is that?

Noise pierced the air and sat at rail-road crossings,
walking back to old fashion--
country inns -out of- a rainstorm's wind.

wandered the point to follow,
the hollow that swallows
tomorrow

and

i saw myself be-musing
way stations
and caught a ticket,
-back-

to apathy.

Do not disturb a father's promise
to a man
three times the size,
of age as tradition requires.

Do not be stunned at a ******'s gold
who seeks
his child ******,
or even a mother's approving eye
to bloodied sheets her shamed pride.

Family honor-must-be- fulfilled.

Yet what duty of cowards can protect a young life?
who shall
spoil the
untouched,
and
naive mind.

And what radical deviant cries that her vows were lies,
a sanctioned marriage under desquise.

To delude the chance of hope--
Najood Ali
made her plea before a
court
of empathy.

"Divorce my torment and misery,
I am not made for property."

Do not force--righteous anger,
                        As a stone disturbs the water.
And so radical is she, that inspired a community,
                      Love is not a dollar.

Deprive one of her scholar
          in place of
                   pre-mature mother,
                          makes not the smiling bride.

And why shall daughters
                 sacrifice
the chance to grow with
                       laughter?
Tis is the world,
                        a male-order.

And so the Islam burns her flesh
                                                           ­  to purify
                           the abused mess
Take away all her
                            unrest,
This flaw a
                                                    human disaster.

Poems are a changing thing and are at worst a dragon.
Come to consume thoughts and drag words like virgins to the stake.
             when I was a witchy thing, black wings spread over in grief.
              I began to breath fire from depths of pain that no longer
              We're hidden- safe.
What a beast! Her eyes hot and tongue sharp and beauty unfolding
With each rip from a torn soul, oh! And to me, the greater the passion
The more a story is told.
              So it seems dark embers stir this creatures heat,
               While thundering for meaning as
               Joy to love, like a monster my dragon was only
               Trained to eat.
Molting form a maidens horror purity was up to fight,
Against the memories and faded- incomplete prose
That only taunted the will to abide.
               Writing only when voice can not answer
                and my heart offends- the more it bends
                To serve the dragon's fire.

Was it the race to be my own entity that launched the first probe?
Curious and wandering what happens to the soul,
Where magic meets reality and the engineer of all things,
Resting at the birth of childhoods end.

With a spaceship ride to heavenly tides towards the event horizon
Born in the skin an astronaut spins deeper into the night,
To find what was and what is and will everything be alright?

Just to sink further in the hope to send
A message to the father.
There's no place like home and in the unknown
Can feel like a memory shattered,
It's a galaxy made of dead star things that build a life of matter.

It could be more than love in a cold night
Always searching for destiny,
Chasing after December.

It could be dark falling asleep
But nothing matches the mystery,
Of dreams and disaster.

Would I know the truth
As a ruse, to excuse
Intensity?

Telling a day to break the light
So sure of being left behind,
The pressure of treasure is
So hard to find.

And so the flow takes the tole
And a mind unfolds,
Within immortal skies.

To each his own,
His curiosity lies.

The paper was a bit shy and ***** from the past few years of neglect, nothing ever grew more alone and distant than the faded words of a poet unfinished.

"The cold light filled the night as a wolf cried out, the moons eye a ghostly dancer."

Now so it seemed such a sad thing that there was never to be an answer; time would be the master and the minutes forebode disaster.

But of course, never the light of day. Stuck forever to twilight haze it filled an eerie air.
I watched from this broken phrase all the while in a poets grave, rotting from abused paper.